Infectious
by TheBladeofTruth3
Summary: Three weeks. That's how long it took for the entire east coast of America to fall to the virulent infection. And now, a group consisting of a soft-spoken martial arts instructor, a rather aggressive and masculine woman, an eccentric victim of the horrors of life, and a perfectly normal goth man must band together with many others to fight for a cure and their own salvation.


Hey there, everyone! I really like this website and fan fictions in general, so I thought to post one of my own here... so bear in mind I'm a kid still and I don't have much experience up my sleeve... I hope you enjoy anyway!

Prologue...

The pitch black night was nearly silent. The only light source was from late night signs shining like beacons in a storm, illuminating the surrounding buildings in shades of nauseatingly loud neon colors, pink, green, yellow… the shimmering lights danced over the pools of black that were splattered in crevices on the concrete, tracks of human hands and feet led from the black into dark alleyways. Bronze bullet shells littered the ground as much as the bodies did, which was a common sight now in the city. The bodies were of people, yes, but they weren't exactly human anymore. Each one, their skin was white as a scream of fear, dyed red and yellow from the blood and vomit that stained them. Their eyes were either open wide or half-lidded upon receiving the gift of a swift death, mouths open ajar in what was the last miserable, desperate gasps for air. For life.

As that was the sight of the city, the sound was the rumbling hum of a deep, powerful engine. The size of the engine and the bulkiness of the vehicle belonging to it made the car shake rhythmically in vibrations, and the LED headlights shone out upon the streets, giving a horrid and white sight of carnage only seen in a horror movie. The vehicle, in fact, was a convoy belonging to the military. Armed soldiers sat inside it securely, all 7 backs stiff and faces hard in anxiety for the situation at hand.

"Backhander, Backhander, this is Garcia. Report on conditions, over." the radio within the darkened convoy crackled. The soldiers inside the carriers all turned sharply to the source of the sudden noise, 12 eyes immediately flicking to the one that was closest to the radio.

The one clicked on the button and brought the radio to his lips. "Garcia, this is Backhander. Full-perimeter area sweep shows no signs of activity from the Whiskey Deltas, over."

"Backhander, have you detected any signs of remaining Survivors?" Garcia asked.

"Negative, Garcia." the soldier replied.

"Backhander, abandon your current position to rendezvous with Dixie, report to the waypoint at the east end of the area. Over." Garcia said.

The transmission ended with the faint popping of a radio speaker being hung on its ring. The soldier belonging to Backhander threw himself against his seat and emitted a groan. Due to the attempt to keep it quiet, it only summed up to be an annoyed whine.

"Jesus, instead of just shooting these things, we should bring out the good ol' AC-130s and bomb 'em… I mean, seriously. Things aren't gonna get any better here, I don't even know if it can get any worse." the man said in a stiff tone, his barely visible eyes swinging to the faces of the other soldiers, almost as if checking to see if they agreed with him.

"Wanna know the worst part though? It's only been three weeks since this whole shit with the zombies started. In that time, the entire northeast of america was completely overrun by those things. If CEDA doesn't come up with the cure soon, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire world was gone by next Tuesday." another said, sitting up to make himself visible from the rest.

"CEDA? You honestly still think those incompetent assholes are gonna come up with something? They're the ones who said washing your hands would stop this from spreading. No, wait- they were also the ones who said this was just a little flu strain. 'Protecting people from both natural and manmade disasters,' my ass! Stop listening to their bullshit, man." a third said, the tone of his voice sharp as a snapping whip.

"Come on, you guys… have a little faith in your fellow man, it's only been three weeks. I know the scientists over at our facility are working hard every day to produce a cure, maybe this will all be stopped by tomorrow." a fourth said.

"Always the optimist, aren't you? Open your eyes and look at the damn facts, there's nothing that's gonna stop this, and you know it." the third hissed testily at the fourth.

"There's nothing wrong with staying positive…" fourth said softly, the man averting his eyes and cradling his rifle in his arms loosely.

"And where has being positive gotten us? Absolutely fucking nowhere." the third grumbled.

"Stop it, guys. Let's just go meet up with Dixie, this place is getting creepier by the minute." said the one who had started the conversation-turned argument, the man turning to the wheel of convoy and putting his foot on the gas, driving slowly into the darkness of the city.

"CEDA's failure to detain the infection in the north and a large portion of the south has left us with a heavy toll on our hands…" a man who appeared to just be reaching the very end of his youth and starting the transition to his senior years was hunched over the desk in his office with his arms supporting him on the piece of furniture, his sagging eyes squinting at the figure in front of him as he spoke to it.

The figure in front of him was a woman. Her posture was composed and solid, her smile practiced with her hands folded in a neat, perfectly symmetrical heart-shaped formation across her lap, every part of her feet rooted to the floor. She appeared almost like a cheery department store mannequin, her beach blonde hair neatly combed, styled in a jaw length pageboy cut, framing the round shape of her fair face. Her plump, red painted lips were parted with the professional smile she wore. Her most catching feature was her eyes. Even though her face was fixed in a smile, her eyes were ice blue and soul-piercing, all who would meet their gaze would feel what it is to be intimidated. However, their offset was her figure itself. her build was like that of a decoration baby doll, cherubic and childish. Although she appeared this way, her business uniform and the weapons strapped to her back told that she was not for child's play.

"Sir, as a representative for CEDA, I can say with absolute candor that we're doing everything we can to produce a cure and to ensure the remaining uninfected are safely evacuated. Which is part of the reason why I've come here." the woman's voice was high and squeaky, matching her babyish features perfectly. "CEDA would like to form a joint operation with the Military. We're having quite a rough time handling infected and survivors at the ports, you see. The people don't feel safe enough with just us, and that's where riots start to break out. They even start attacking each other out of paranoia if someone happens to sneeze from allergies. Not only that, but the infected keep breaking quarantine lines, causing operations to evacuate the people and to contain the infection to fail." she said, all the while maintaining her mannequin smile.

"So basically, you want us in the military to join you as extra muscle?" the man asked.

"I like to think of it more as proper security and reinforcement." the woman replied.

Silence overtook the small office room as the old man brought his outstretched arms from their locked position on the table to his face, his fingers lacing under his nose as his thumbs supported the sagging skin of his jaw, bushy eyebrows scrunching together as he contemplated.

"Let me run something by you, miss." he finally said.

"Oh?" the woman inquired, her smile stretching itself farther.

"We can't join operations with CEDA like this. In case you haven't noticed, this base's number of workers thins every time I just send a team for something as simple as a recon mission. While you folks play the bigger role in trying to contain the pandemic, we've been trying to rescue people in the background. Unfortunately, many of our men and women are succumbing to the infection and dying. If you were to bring us, the greatest military power in the world, into this and it's proven that we're just as vulnerable as any human… don't you think that would cause even more panic for the people, perhaps even mass hysteria?" the man asked.

"You're saying you don't want people to be rescued more efficiently?" the woman asked.

"I'm saying I don't want to sacrifice the soldiers that love and defend our country like that when I know they can't hold off the infected forever. My men are tired, my scientists are tired, and I'm tired." the man replied. "So your request has been denied."

For the briefest moment, the woman's smile faded. The look that was left on her face was not even a scowl, nor a snarl or a sneer. It was a nearly stoic expression, her plump baby lips were crushed in a line across her face, and the true potential of her stabbing gaze pierced the very mirrors leading to the man's soul, making him sit up stiffly in his chair and gulp hard.

But as quickly as the smile left, it returned and made sweet little dimples form depressions on her cherub cheeks. "I see. Well then," leaning forward slightly, she rose from her chair, the man's eyes fixed on her the entire time, his mouth unlatched. "Thank you for your time, sir. Have a nice day." she said, smiling ever so sweetly as she gave a curtsy, turning her heel and heading for the door. As she walked, her gait was like that of an empress.

As soon as the man was certain she left, air bursted from his lungs hotly, his hands flying downwards onto the table so fast and so hard that he was certain he would have a few red marks on them later, his fingers hooking onto the ridges of the desk. Sweat droplets rolled from the crevices and creases on his face, dropping onto the table and making little flowers.

"Damn… such a ghastly woman…" the man exhaled softly.

After a few minutes of panting, the man's breath finally returned to him, his arms unhooking from their stiff position to rub circles into his temples, his eyelids slowly drooping until they were closed softly. However, his eyes opened again as the pager at his side chirped at him, the red light flashing and demanding for his attention. Grumbling and clearing the anxious blockage from his throat, he pressed the button and leaned near it.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Sir…" the voice on the other end started. "You might want to come see this…"

The man slid his identification keycard into the slot, and waited for the beep of approval before opening the solid, automatic door, his shoes clicking off the linoleum in the dark room. The only light was from rows of stacked surveillance monitors, the choppy motions of black and white not immediately eye-catching. But judging by the way the security worker sat rigidly in his seat, the way his eyes were rounded and his arms flat on the control panels, showed that something was wrong. Very wrong.

"What's going on, Charleston?" the man asked, putting one hand on the back of the chair and dipping himself forward to find what he was looking at.

"There's a perimeter breach in sector 5-A, north wing… I don't know how this happened, but the alarm system didn't alert me to the walls or doors in that sector opening. They won't close, they seem to have completely broken down. I just noticed this now." Charleston replied, his voice wavering.

The man felt the blockage in his throat return. But as the head of those facilities, he refused to panic. "Has there been any sign of infiltration by the Whiskey Deltas?"

"None so far, sir. If we send the technicians down there now to fix the problem with the doors, we can get this place secured again without any trouble from the infected." Charleston replied.

"Alright then. Send the techs down there to fix the doors, and send someone with a gun with them to make sure they can work safely. Move it." the man ordered.

"Roger." Charleston put his headpiece on and connected it to the intercom system, turning the dial up slightly. "Attention, requesting any technicians on duty to sector 5-A, north wing, as well as any sniper on duty. Go at once, thank you." he said, the sound of the message carrying through the halls and echoing throughout the base.

The man and Charleston watched as the figures of the technicians and the sniper appear in jerky, spontaneous and dart like movements on the monitor, the techs appearing to be confused as to what happened with the door while eventually darting about to fix it, the sniper standing in the same spot and having his gun raised at the darkness.

Charleston pressed one button on the nearby communications device while watching the screen intently. "Report on the conditions of the door, please."

"There's something wrong with the door system, sir." a voice on the other end, a technician, replied with a soft and nervous tone of voice.

"No kidding, that's why we sent you to fix it." the man said dryly into the speaker.

"Negative, sir. There's something wrong with the door system _itself_. There's no signs of a wire breaking or a jammed gear. The system's been hacked by someone."

"Hacked?" both Charleston and the man said, eyebrows raising up high.

"Yes, hacked. Whoever hacked the system must know their computer systems well enough to stop the doors from working and to completely bypass the alarm system. But if they could bypass the most advanced alarm system in american technology… that means they have the ability to control it."

Charleston watched as the man's jaw set, his lips peeling back to reveal an angry snarl. "I want this place on lockdown now, abandon the perimeter doors and get back inside the base, no one gets in or out as of now." he said.

Charleston nodded swiftly as the technicians and the sniper began to swiftly pack their equipment. "All facility personnel are to report to their bunkers, this is a lockdown. This is not a drill, I repeat, go to your bunkers immediately-"

The sound of whirring gears and clacking lights echoed the halls, cutting Charleston off and turning all attention to the ceiling. The searchlights clicked on and moved around throughout the trees in the forest, highlighting the snarling faces of idle infected, each of their heads snapping in the direction of the base. They elicited screams similar to those of a hellish choir in anticipation of a meal as soon as an emphatic ringing sounded in the night, the pitch loud and high. The infected in the woods all sprang forth in the direction of the lights, their tense limbs flailing wildly.

"W-what's happening…?" Charleston asked.

"…" The facility's head was staring with wide eyes, small wheezes of air escaping him, the sound of his beating heart matching the volume of the alarm in his world, the rough thumping making him choke. "… The dinner bell has rung…." he breathed.

Charleston gagged on his own panic. In reaction to the thought of imminent doom, his body completely tensed and froze up, his thought process going blank. There was the head of the facilities, just as terrified and blank as him. But one ounce of consciousness prodded at his mind. The drive to do the action hit him like a high speed train. Thinking slowly, he forced his finger to press down on the intercom button once again, seeing as how the infected were breaching the open perimeter eagerly, and all the others were like deer in headlights. With a dry throat, he leaned into the mic.

"All units mobilize, this is a class A security breach, all divisions to the armory, I repeat, this is a class A security breach! All units, move now!" he barked hoarsely into the intercom. He sat back wearily after he too wheezed along with the man. "If this facility goes down… it's going down fighting…" he said, his face and mind blearily vacant as he swept a hand under the nearest cabinet, feeling the familiar weight of a loaded pistol in his hand.

He heard the crashing and the screams before he saw it all on the security monitor. He saw the infected cascade over the northern wing, all landing on their hands and feet before messily running for the technicians and the sniper, who weren't able to pack in time. Charleston felt his heart slam against his ribcage as the screams reached his ears in the headset, tears welling in the sides of his eyes. His hands tightened like a vice around the pistol, the man managing to take in a sharp breath while raising the pistol to the door. Just a chunk of the sturdy metal broke away to show the twisted faces of the infected, their teeth grinding excitedly upon finding such a vulnerable meal, the numerous bodily fluids that they were expelling splashing the nearby walls and door like rain.

Charleston's mouth twisted into a grin. "Stay back, sir…" he said to the facility's head, barely brushing past the man to defend him. "Here we stand in the center of this room…"

"Dead Center…" the head man breathed.

Charleston only chuckled, the sound swift and humorless. His finger squeezed the trigger as the door bursted apart, shrieks and garbled chattering filling the room as the horde flooded in.

A smile shined in the night as bright as the headlights of the convoy its figure leaned against. Even though the figure was a shadow against the headlights, the smile and the ice blue eyes were bright. "Ah… what a lovely moon this is… it illuminates the bodies like in a romance movie with a massacre." the woman purred while brushing her fingers over her face, moving beach blonde strands. She idly swings her leg from its crossed position on the front end of the convoy, whistling a peaceful tune while climbing into the driver's seat, casting her gaze to the passenger.

The passenger was a girl around the age of 12, and one would never meet anyone who fidgeted as much as she did. When she was not moving her wiry, frizzy mound of unruly red hair, she would be rubbing her pixie nose, or picking at the lint on her black jean skirt. Her legs were probably the most active things on the small red head, although she was very bony and frail, her skinny freckle-splashed legs moved faster than an olympic runner. Her beady brown eyes were everywhere but there and then, her thin pink lips pressed in a firm line until they opened to let out a small sigh, as if she was disappointed that there was no more fidgeting to be done.

"How did you get all of that to work, aunt Amanda?" the child asked.

Amanda smiled down at the child. "It was simple, really. The idiot head of that facility informed me that the amount of his soldiers thins whenever missions are called for, which is every three days. I happened to meet Lady Luck when he had only a few dozen soldiers in his facilities, and saw that as my opportunity to strike. Also, I managed to get a good look at his security systems and played around with the doors." she replied. "Now, dear Priscilla… why don't we head down to Savannah to catch the military operations there? Maybe then they'll ally with me to help us get a cure for this big nasty virus." she said.

"Okay, aunt Amanda." Priscilla replied, kicking her legs once again as the rumbling quake of the starting engine sounded, the hum loud.

Amanda put her foot on the gas, and drove away with a soft smile.

End….


End file.
